


check yes juliet

by intertwingular



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, One Night Stands, Post-Time Skip, i said i'd write a rio fling fic and i did, this got longer than i intended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwingular/pseuds/intertwingular
Summary: “You,” Hinata finally mutters, eyes startlingly sharp, and his tone startlingly rude. He squints at Tooru, and Tooru wonders what he sees. “...are you...hitting on me?”That startles a laugh out of Tooru. “Yeah,” Tooru says, still leaning heavily on Hinata, “yeah, Chibi-chan, I am. Ihavebeen. All night, actually.”or, oikawa, hinata, and a night in rio de janeiro
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 20
Kudos: 388





	check yes juliet

**Author's Note:**

> this was literally written to ‘check yes juliet’ by we the kings dont ask me why i dont wanna talk about it & that's why that's the title. 
> 
> anyways, HQ is over and i'm really sad, but i wanted to write a oihina rio fling fic and i DID IT. smut is still very embarrassing to write. whoops. 
> 
> enjoy!

The night after they beat the Buy-Me-A-Beer brothers, Tooru asks Hinata out for a few drinks afterwards. 

“On me,” he promises, patting Hinata on the back. It’s strange, how solid the shrimp is now — oh, he’s still short, still loud, and still _always_ hungry, judging by the way he all but inhaled their meal earlier, but there’s more substance to him. It’s like, in the years Tooru has spent away, Hinata Shouyou has evolved from the quick, flashy distraction Karasuno’s team became so well-known for, into something solid, steady, and grounded. 

Not like Iwa-chan, of course. Nobody beats Iwa-chan in terms of solid, steady, and grounded, not even Ushiwaka, who’s so grounded, he may as well be a brick-fucking-wall. But Hinata has become something more than that terrifying little chick Tooru remembers from his last year at Aoba Johsai. Science says that in order to fly, birds have evolved to have hollow bones, but Hinata Shouyou’s back is a solid weight against Tooru’s palm, and somehow, he still soars, toward heights Tooru can only dream of reaching. 

“Wait,” Tooru says, sticking an arm out in front of Hinata as they come to a stop in front of the ramshackle, tucked away bar Hinata had led them to, “you’re legal, right?” To Tooru’s never-ending surprise, Hinata rolls his eyes — _rolls his eyes!_ — and ducks under Tooru’s arm as he turns to face Tooru, trademark bright and sunny smile lopsided and amused. 

“ _Obviously_ ,” Hinata says, dragging the word out, and Tooru barely manages to side-step the urge to fall into squawking indignation, because _clearly_ , someone’s been a terrible influence on the cute, terrifying little monster Tooru remembers from high school. “I mean, I wouldn’t really know this place otherwise, Oikawa-san.” And, in the same fluid movement that carried him out from under Tooru’s arm, Hinata ducks under the burlap curtains covering the entrance to the bar. 

For a moment, all Tooru can do is stare at Hinata’s retreating back. Like this, he’s backlit by the dim lighting leaking through the gaps and tears of the bar’s impromptu front door — but like this, all Tooru can seem to remember is Hinata Shouyou, first year at Karasuno High, and the way the bright lighting would halo him every time he leapt forward, flying for just a moment. 

For a moment, the air smells of salonpas, and the sound of cars passing by on distant roads turns to the squeak of rubber against fake-wood flooring, the _boom_ that accompanied Hinata Shouyou’s final jump at Spring Interhigh, and the quiet hush that overtook the crowd every time that small runt of a first year took flight. 

Hinata breaks Tooru’s trance effortlessly, though. He pokes his head through the gap between the two curtains, eyes sharp and searching as he tilts his head, questioning. “Hey, what are you waiting for?” He smiles, and even the dash of uncertainty in it is stunning. “C’mon, Oikawa-san! If you spend all night out here, we won’t be able to get bar seats!” 

Tooru shakes his head, trying to push the final fragments of that odd, shining moment to the back of his mind. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he drawls, loping easily into the bar. It’s less ramshackle on the inside, but it feels cozy and worn in, despite it’s less-than-polished appearance. It may not be the high-end clubs and bars that Tooru’s been to along the main streets of Rio de Janeiro, but there’s a sense of comfort to this place that only comes with a long local history. “That eager to watch me drink you under the table, Chibi-chan?” 

Hinata’s nose crinkles as he laughs — it’s so different from Iwa-chan, who’s laughs come from the chest, low and slightly raspy as his eyes crinkle at the tips of his ears flush pink and then red. Hinata laughs with his whole body, his shoulders shaking and his entire face brightening with the force of his laughter. It’s louder than Iwa-chan, and higher too, without a single trace of the rasp Tooru associates so intimately with the way Iwa-chan laughs. 

In that quietly blinding moment, Tooru realizes that he _may_ be attracted to Hinata Shouyou. It’s not impossible to separate him from the loud, vaguely threatening first year, blessed with speed from some kind of god, and enough blind faith to rattle the Catholic church twice over, but Tooru finds that to do so, to compartmentalize this sudden attraction of his in this way, feels almost hollow. 

When he was in university, Tooru had taken an Art History class to fulfill one of his three GenEd requirements. His professor had told the class that there was no art without background — _art never exists in a vacuum_ , the woman had said, flip flops smacking against the floor of the lecture hall, and without the background, _you are left with only half the piece. There is no such thing as true appreciation without context._

That, it seems, applies here and now, as much as it had on Tooru’s Art History final. Maybe the truth of it lies in the fact that Tooru likes having _history_ with people — he likes the knowledge that somehow, someway, he’s left a mark in them, with them, and that he remains with them. Maybe Tooru likes to mean something to people. 

It’s why he likes Iwa-chan so much, after all. What are four years of high school boyfriends and girlfriends, three-point-five years of university boyfriends and girlfriends, one-point-five years of hookups in Argentina, France, Italy, Germany — what is _any_ of that, against the ten, fifteen years of history Tooru has with Iwaizumi? 

What’s all of that to the shining moments Tooru’s shared with Hinata Shouyou on the court?

* * *

Hinata orders for them — it’s probably just as well, honestly. Tooru’s Portuguese is, well, non-existent, and he’s been cruising by so far on the odd mix of English and Spanish most people in Rio seem to be able to understand. That’s not really the case here. The bartender speaks English well enough — when Tooru asks if they’ve got any bar food, pretzels and the like, she responds easily enough in accented English — but it’s painfully obvious that Portuguese is the mother tongue here. 

_Well_ , Tooru thinks, as Hinata slides cheerfully back into the barstool beside him, beers in hand, _when in Rome…_

“Matilde said to start off easy,” Hinata tells him, the bar’s dim lighting glittering in his eyes, “but I have a feeling she’ll end up setting one of the drinks on fire before we’re done tonight.” 

Tooru chokes down his mouthful of beer before he laughs. “If Refreshing-kun could hear you now,” he wheezes, setting his mug down so nothing spills, “he would _weep_ , Chibi-chan. _Weep._ ” 

“Suga-senpai could probably outdrink me though,” Hinata says, tone guileless, as if he hasn’t just dropped the most shocking news Tooru’s heard all night. “The upperclassmen came to visit after Kageyama and I graduated and, well—” Hinata pauses, staring at Tooru. “You know what? Nevermind.” 

Tooru sets down his beer with an audible _bang_. From behind the bar counter, Matilde stares at the both of them, something hawkish in her eyes, but she stays there, just watching. For now, at least. “You literally can _not_ ,” Tooru starts, turning to look Hinata in the eyes so fast that he nearly strains his neck in the process, “tell me that, and then just leave me hanging? Come _on_ , Chibi-chan, first rule of gossip.” 

“That’s a _thing_?” Hinata asks, taking another gulp of his beer. “Like, you’re not kidding?” 

Tooru clicks his tongue. “Okay, so I _might_ be lying,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But you can’t blame me, okay? Refreshing-kun is…” Tooru flounders for a word that isn’t refreshing. “...Refreshing-kun.” _Smooth._

“Okay, okay,” Hinata laughs, swivelling to face Tooru fully. “So, you know how Kageyama and I graduated around...almost two years ago now?” 

Tooru waves him off. “Obviously. Kin-chan texted me during regional qualifiers. Congrats on making it to semifinals, by the way. Iwa-chan and I never ended up making it to Nationals that year.” 

Hinata beams. Looking at it isn’t too unlike staring straight into the sun — Tooru thinks if he stares just a bit longer, he’ll either end up with a splitting headache, or go completely blind from the light. “Thanks,” he says. “It kind of sucked that we lost to Itachiyama, but I mean — we definitely didn’t let them win easily.” Hinata takes another swig of beer and Tooru tracks a stray drop of amber as it makes its way from the corner of Hinata’s chapped-red lips, tracing down the column of his throat and the bulge of his Adam’s apple. 

“Anyways, after graduation, Suga-senpai and Daichi-senpai stopped by to pick Kageyama, Tsukiyama, Yamaguchi, Yachi, and me up, since they’d stayed pretty local for college…”

* * *

They stumble arm in arm back toward Copacabana, and Tooru’s hotel room, tipsy, if not outright drunk on the sheer amount of liquor Matilde had slid over the bar counter toward them over the course of the night. 

“Your liver,” Tooru declares, stumbling to the left and taking Hinata with him, “should be _dead_ , Chibi-chan. _D-e-d-d_.”

Hinata blinks owlishly at him. “Oikawa-san,” he says, slurring turning san into _shaan_ , “there are, there aren’t two d’s in dead?” Hinata sounds uncertain, more like the kid Tooru remembers from high school. The timbre of his voice is all wrong, deeper than it had been, five to six years ago, but the undercurrent is the same. 

“Hm,” Tooru manages to say, steadying himself against a wall. Luckily for them, their ragtag duo doesn’t stick out all that much amongst the throngs of tourists in similar states of tipsy to nearly drunk. Nobody stops to stare. “You might be right.” 

Hinata laughs, the sound half-snuffled as he slumps against Tooru. “This was fun,” he says, after a long silence. “Thank you — thank you for coming out with me tonight, senpai.” In the morning, Tooru will undoubtedly look back and marvel at Hinata’s alcohol tolerance, and then wonder if it had been built up over god knows how many drinks, or if Hinata had just been blessed with a monstrous alcohol tolerance, just as he had been with that insane speed of his. 

Right now, though, Hinata is flushed a pleasant pink, the color high and soft in the apples of his cheeks. Rio de Janeiro lights him up from behind, a halo of halogen lights and the smeared glow of passing cars in the distance — it’s so different from the way the sun lit Hinata up earlier in the day, as he leapt from the sand to the sky on invisible wings. 

Hinata, Tooru is coming to realize, lends himself to light and beauty in a way so few people can do naturally. Once upon a time, his art history professor had spoken about this too, had stood in front of their class and lectured about muses across the ages, from Rembrandt and his wife, to Picasso and Gilot, and had spoken about innate beauty. 

Hinata has that — that innate beauty, the kind that elevates him from man to muse, that gathers people toward him so easily. Tooru’s Art History professor had called it something humbling.  
Here, in front of Hinata, watching Hinata as the city crowns him in light, Tooru agrees wholeheartedly. 

“You,” Tooru murmurs, as they begin their slow lope back to his hotel room, “you look gorgeous tonight, Chibi. Hinata.” 

Underneath his arms, Hinata stills, shoulders tensing as they come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. People move around them, undeterred, but for Tooru, it feels like the world is holding its breath for them. As if the world, like Tooru, is waiting to see how Hinata will respond. 

“You,” Hinata finally mutters, eyes startlingly sharp, and his tone startlingly rude. He squints at Tooru, and Tooru wonders what he sees. “...are you...hitting on me?” 

That startles a laugh out of Tooru. “Yeah,” Tooru says, still leaning heavily on Hinata, “yeah, Chibi-chan, I am. I _have_ been. All night, actually.” 

“Oh.” Hinata flushes, redder this time. It’s just as lovely on him — Tooru half expects the red to clash with Hinata’s orange hair, but it doesn’t, the colors tempered by the nighttime lighting. “You…” he licks his lips, and a frisson of pure electricity arcs down Tooru’s spine. Suddenly, the warm haziness that Tooru associates with being tipsy has vanished — the world is in focus now, thrown into sharp relief, and at the center of it all is Hinata Shouyou and his weird, animal magnetism. “...I hadn’t noticed,” he says lamely, scuffing his shoes against the pavement. 

_Oblivious_ , Tooru thinks. He should’ve probably expected that. 

Hinata leans a little closer to him, close enough that they may as well be swapping breath for breath, and his eyes seem to glow in the dim nighttime light, flecks of amber and deep brown brought out by the flickering street lamps. 

Hinata leans in, a little closer, and kisses him. For a moment, Tooru just stands there, shocked to stillness — everything is overwhelming for a moment: the rush of blood in his ears, the scent of sunscreen and Hinata’s shampoo, the murmur of the crowd as it routes around them, and Hinata’s lips, slightly dry, on his. 

Tooru kisses back. He cards his hands through Hinata’s shorn hair, cradles the back of Hinata’s head tenderly, and tries not to buckle under the weight of Hinata and the kiss. When it starts getting a little too hard to breathe, they break apart, panting heavily. Hinata looks disheveled — his hair even more mussed up than it normally is, his cheeks flushed fully red, lips swollen, and pupils blown wide. 

A pang of _want_ , heady and dark, coils in Tooru’s stomach. But he waits — this is Hinata’s move. Right now, they’re on Hinata’s turf. Rio de Janeiro is Hinata’s city, and here, in Hinata’s city, Hinata moved to kiss Tooru. 

_Your move_ , Tooru thinks, and as usual, Hinata doesn’t disappoint. 

“Your — your hotel room?” Hinata asks, still breathing heavily. They’re still standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people moving around them like a stream around a boulder, and Tooru wants nothing more than to take Hinata back to his hotel room and finish what they’ve just started. 

“Yes,” Tooru blurts, and grabs Hinata’s wrist in hand. They stumble across the streets like that, locked together, Tooru’s hand tight around Hinata’s wrist. There’s a clumsy sort of dance in the way they weave through Rio’s packed streets, and a heady urgency to their movements as well. 

They stumble into the lobby, into the elevator, and Tooru curses internally when a family of four gets into the elevator with them. He locks eyes with Hinata in the elevator, promises of _something_ in them, and Hinata smiles slowly, all teeth and something feral. 

The elevator pings as they reach Tooru’s floor. Hinata stumbles out first, dragging Tooru behind him with a giddy, breathless laugh. Briefly, Tooru wonders if the family realized what they were about to do, if their anticipation had leaked into every slight touch and movement they made in that elevator car, but the doors slide shut with a quiet, mechanical hiss, and Hinata tugs Tooru away from the elevator bay, leaving the family behind. 

“I want you,” Hinata pants, hands skittering across Tooru’s chest and shoulders, “to fuck me.” They’re right outside Tooru’s hotel room, and Tooru is fumbling for his keycard in his pockets — he’s so _close_ to just emptying them out onto the floor out of sheer frustration, before his hand brushes against cool plastic. 

Tooru swipes the keycard into the lock with more force than is probably necessary. They fall into his room, Hinata laughing loud enough to wake the neighbors, a tangle of limbs and half-shed clothing. Hinata kicks off his shoes hard enough to send them flying across the room. Tooru almost tears a hole in his t-shirt trying to get it over his head. 

They’re a mess. But when Hinata grabs Tooru by the wrists, tugging him insistently toward the lone bed in the center of the hotel room, Tooru finds that he doesn’t quite care. Hinata is _magnetic_ like this, a spot of pure sunshine in Tooru’s dark hotel room. 

“Lube?” Hinata mumbles, reaching blindly for the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed. Tooru pauses, mid nip, and reaches over Hinata to pull the drawer open. Hinata crows victoriously when his hand closes around the small travel-sized bottle of lube Tooru had — luckily — thrown into his carry on. Tooru muffles his own laugh into Hinata’s neck, sucking down hard enough to leave a bruise. Hinata’s crow turns into a moan as Tooru sucks harder on his neck, and it isn’t long before Tooru hears the lube cap pop off. 

“Let me?” He asks, pulling away from Hinata’s neck. Pleased, Tooru notes that it’s already begun to bruise a lurid purple — impossible to miss — on the side of Hinata’s neck. 

Hinata nods, eyes hazy, and watches, propped up on his elbows, as Tooru squirts a generous amount of lube into the palm of his hands, warming it there for a moment, before he leans down, in between Hinata’s legs, and begins to work him open with a single, crooked finger. 

Hinata squirms when Tooru puts his finger in, he squirms when Tooru crooks his finger, searching for Hinata’s prostate, and he squirms when Tooru slides in a second finger, twisting them ‘round and ‘round, scissoring Hinata open. 

“Hurry,” Hinata pants, writhing on Tooru’s third finger, “up, Oikawa-san.” His eyes look like molten gold like this, warm with lust, and Tooru surges forward to kiss him, crooking his fingers to hit Hinata’s prostate just so. Hinata chokes on his complaints then, whining turning into a reedy moan. Tooru doesn’t know if it’s intentional or not, but Hinata pushes back on Tooru’s fingers, hole fluttering greedily around them. 

“ _Hurry up_ ,” Hinata grinds out again, hands creeping up to grip Tooru’s shoulders. 

“What if I don’t?” Tooru asks, voice lilting. He really only means it teasingly — Tooru has no intention of taking it nice and slow for their first round of the night — but Hinata obviously takes his joke at face value, rising up, off of Tooru’s fingers, and pushing him down onto the sheets. 

Hinata brackets Tooru in with his arms. Like this, staring up at Hinata, his shoulders seem impossibly broad, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. His chest heaves with every breath, and Hinata looks wrecked — impatient and well fucked, even though Tooru hasn’t even put it in yet. 

Tooru smirks. “ _Rude_ , Chibi-chan,” he chides jokingly. “I was only trying to be polite and prep you.” 

“I’m so far past prepped,” Hinata tells him, matter-of-factly, and reaches down, yanking Tooru’s boxers off. Tooru is achingly hard at this point — it would take someone with the self control of a saint not to be, at the sight of Hinata Shouyou panting and writhing underneath them — and his dick springs up, out from his boxers, bobbing rock hard and flushed over Tooru’s stomach. “Sorry, Oikawa-san.” Hinata reaches behind them, and grabs the bottle of lube, before squirting a generous handful onto Tooru’s cock. “I can’t hold on for much longer.” 

In one fluid motion, Hinata sinks down onto Tooru’s dick. He bottoms out flawlessly, head thrown back, the smooth column of his throat exposed. Tooru takes that as an invitation and leans up, nipping at the exposed skin, and Hinata moans, hips stuttering. 

“Mo- _ove_ ,” Hinata whimpers, already bouncing up and down on Tooru’s dick. His own dick is leaking heavily, smearing pre all over his toned, suntanned stomach, and Tooru reaches up, gripping Hinata’s hips tightly in both hands, before he thrusts up into that welcoming, all-encompassing heat. 

Hinata moans again at that, clamping down tight enough that for a split second, Tooru can’t help but worry, but when he moves again, sinking down to the root of Tooru’s cock, sweat slipping down his throat, any thought that isn’t _Hinata, Hinata, Hinata_ , fades away. 

Tooru’s not sure exactly _what_ they do — he remembers the salty taste of Hinata’s come in his mouth at one point, the sensation of Hinata’s lips on his dick at one point too. Tooru remembers licking sweat off Hinata’s neck and chest, remembers pinning him down with one hand and rutting into him to the tune of Hinata moaning _faster, faster, faster_ , until one of the neighbors banged a fist against their shared wall, yelling for them to just _shut the fuck up already, Jesus Christ!_

Tooru remembers the both of them dissolving into choked laughter at that, and he remembers the small, tight thing in the center of his chest that tugged just a _bit_ harder at the sight of Hinata’s bright smile in the middle of the night. 

He remembers Hinata chucking a cool, wet flannel at him after they finally finished up, remembers them taking turns wiping the other off. Tooru remembers Hinata apologizing when they found blood beading from the places where Hinata had scratched Tooru’s back at one point — a hellion, even in bed — and the way Hinata had shrieked when he caught sight of the collar of hickeys Tooru had carefully marked all the way around his neck. 

But this — waking up at dawn, to Hinata, snuffling quietly into a pillow, is what Tooru thinks he’ll probably remember the most. He has a flight to catch in a few hours — he still needs to pack, needs to fold his clothing, bag his dirty underwear, and shake the last of the sand out from his shoes. 

Tooru lingers a little longer, leaning against the headboard, watching Hinata Shouyou as he sleeps. Soon, he’ll have to get up. He doesn’t doubt that Hinata will whisk him off for coffee and some pastry Tooru can’t even hope to pronounce, before seeing him off to his shuttle back to the airport, and back to Argentina. 

But for a few moments longer, Tooru basks in Hinata’s warm presence and watches as the sun rises over Rio de Janeiro.

**Author's Note:**

> haha i hoped you liked it? this is definitely more of a one-night stand for oikawa and hinata, i was kinda trying to imply some unrequited iwaoi, and if oikawa had actually LET ME switch to hinata's pov, i could've touched on how hinata and kageyama are actually meant to be on a break from their relationship while hinata's in brazil. 
> 
> anywaays please let me know what you think! drop me a comment, leave me kudos, and you can find me on twitter [@mochiicreams!](https://twitter.com/mochiicreams)


End file.
